Chapter 1
Cove House embodied every cliché of what a genteel English guest house looked like. A wave of nostalgia swept over Mattie as she stared at the Edwardian building, its stone facade painted a brilliant white. Set over three floors, it had expansive bay windows, andCOVE HOUSEwas engraved on the half-moon curve of glass above the entrance. It was easy to imagine arriving here with her brother, Simon, in Mum and Dad’s ageing maroon Rover, all of them eager to start their family holiday. Thirty-plus summers had passed since then and today she’d arrived alone in a taxi she’d hailed from Paignton train station.
After paying the driver, she climbed out and winced at the mid-afternoon heat, harsh in comparison to the taxi’s air-conditioned interior. Her body felt stiff, too, after the long journey to the south-west coast of England – almost five hours door-to-door from her home in London – but at least the air smelled clean, unlike the myriad stale and toxic odours of the capital.
Passing aNO VACANCIESsign hanging motionless on a wooden post, she wheeled her suitcase across the gravelled driveway. The parking area was big enough for four cars, and around it were well-tended shrubs and a riot of pink, purple,and burnt-orange blooms. Their sweet aromas, mingling with the salty sea air, filled her with joy. Choosing to come here for a much-needed break from work had been the right decision. There was no need to unpack first. She’d dump the suitcase in her room, find the quickest path to the sea, and breathe. Breathe properly, in the way she’d been dreaming of and?—
“Hi.”
Mattie jerked backwards as a woman armed with garden secateurs suddenly sprang out from behind a large shrub. She startled again when another woman wielding a fistful of pruned cuttings popped up next to her.
“Sorry.” The secateurs woman laughed, sounding anything but sorry as an impish grin added to the lines in her lightly creased face. With chestnut-brown hair tucked under a cute bucket-shaped sunhat, she had the tanned, healthy look of someone who relished being outdoors. The shrubs hid her lower body but the muscle definition on her arms was obvious. She gestured at the gaping jaws of the secateurs’ blades. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Mattie held her slightly trembling hand against her racing heart but made light of it by laughing. “It’s certainly a memorable way of welcoming your guests.”
“You’re not my guest.” She closed the secateurs and gestured to the other woman standing next to her. “You’re Angie’s.”
Angie fought her way out of the shrub jungle and dropped the pruned foliage into a shallow wooden trough. Then she pulled off her gardening gloves and grimaced at them. “I’d offer to shake your hand but you don’t want to be touching my sweaty one. Anyway, I’m Angie Sutton. All my other guests have arrived so you must be Ms Elliott.”
“Mattie, please.” She gestured at the blooms. “You’ve got a lovely garden.”
“I’ve also got a winter-flowering jasmine that seems to think it’s a tree.” Angie pointed at a large woody shrub with oval leaves. “Nell was showing me the best way to tame it. Come inside and I’ll show you to your room.”
The wheels of Mattie’s compact suitcase banged against her shin as she followed Angie up the carpeted stairs to a room at the top of the house. White and pale-blue furnishings gave it a cosy feel, while a skylight in the sloping roof and the open balcony doors set within an alcove let in air and light.
“There’s a kettle, tea, coffee and biscuits on the tray, and milk in the mini fridge.” Angie switched on a floor-standing fan. “Use this whenever you need to. It’s such an unusually hot summer and this room gets warmer than most.”
“Thank you.” Mattie willed herself to be polite, even though she was desperate for Angie to finish the welcome spiel and leave her in peace.
Angie held out a set of keys and pointed at each in turn. “This one is for your room, this is for the front door, and this last one you’ll only need if you come back late. We double-lock the front door at eleven every night for additional security.”
“I’m not planning to be out late but it’s good to know.”
“I’ll leave you to settle in and what have you. Nell and I are going to have a post-gardening glass of wine on the patio once we’ve tidied up. You’re very welcome to join us.”
Mattie smiled but didn’t commit either way to the casual invitation. She wasn’t here to get cosy with the owners. Or anyone, really. She just needed space. She closed the door behind Angie and looked around. The room was big enough for her to have the suitcase open in a corner and take things out when needed, not that she’d brought a lot. She was used to travelling light when on a reporting assignment and it was a habit she continued for personal trips. First up was slaking the city’s grime off her sticky skin. London really wasn’t gearedup for hot weather. Anything over twenty-four Celsius for a few days and the city creaked with tension. Get close to or into the thirties and it broke. The Underground had been hot and heaving, the air on the Tube train stale and muggy thanks to pathetic air-conditioning, and sweat had glued her T-shirt to her back. A quick, cool shower or a swim in the sea? Hell, she was on holiday. She’d do both.
Under a cloudless sky, she bounded the three-minute journey to the grassy track at the water’s edge. An expanse of glittering water and sand the colour of tin greeted her like an old childhood friend. A long container ship edged its way across the horizon. Up close, the waves were little more than baby curls of movement over the rocks at the foot of the low cliffs. She breathed it all in, the sight, the sound, the tangy smells, the sheer joy of it all, and for the first time in weeks the ever-present tightness in her chest and shoulders eased. She waded into the sea and its chill stole her breath, but soon she was floating, gazing up at the sky and letting her worries drop away. For the moment, at least.
When she got back from the beach, Mattie fumbled with the front door key for Cove House. Why wasn’t the lock turning? There must be a knack to it. She wiggled the key and leaned on the door to see if that made a difference. The damn thing turned at last: not pushing the key completely to its hilt appeared to be the answer. She stepped inside just as Angie appeared at the kitchen doorway, holding a dish of what smelled like freshly roasted chicken.
“Are you okay there?” said Angie. “That lock can get a bit stiff.”
Mattie’s stomach growled loudly in response to the incredible herb and pepper scents wafting from the dish. Heat rushed to her face.
Angie laughed. “Hungry?”
“Sorry, that’s so embarrassing. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“I can recommend the Fisherman’s Arms if you’re after pub grub. Or you can save yourself the bother of going out again and eat with us, if you fancy. Chicken wings, olives, and garden salad,” Angie said.
“You make a compelling case. Sure you’re not a lawyer in your spare time?” Mattie laughed. “Give me ten minutes to wash the salt out of my hair, and I’ll join you. Thanks.”
Standing under the blissfully powerful shower, she wondered what had come over her. One swim in the sea, and she’d been infected by the holiday spirit. Why else would she agree to be sociable when it’d been the last thing she’d wanted barely an hour ago?
Angie’s long back garden looked as beautiful as the one out front, sloping gently to a small, stylish gazebo. On the patio, a fawn-coloured parasol tilted at an angle and shielded a wooden table laden with bottles, glasses, plates, and food. Nell waved from a nearby lounger, and Mattie realised with a jolt what that jasmine tree-shrub thing had been hiding: a sprinkle of freckles in the V-neck of her shirt showing a hint of cleavage, and sleek long legs bare from mid-thigh and crossed at the ankles. Mattie’s skin tingled. That was down to post-swim endorphins, right?
“I’m glad to see you’ve put the secateurs away,” she managed to say without her voice betraying her.
